My wife! My love! Mi amor! How you doing'?

When I walk around in public here, I avoid wearing sunglasses despite the ginormous ball of fire in the sky. Big, Hollywood sunglasses scream GRINGA! and MUG ME! I HAVE MONEY. Either way, I still get more catcalls than I can count on four hands. In Honduran culture, men are more forward, if I may say, in expressing their satisfaction with a woman's physique. A lady can expect to hear anything from kissing noises (this is a common one) to the Honduran noise for I want your attention (which sounds like a "ch ch" sound) thrown in her general direction. My first day in Honduras, for instance, we went to the grocery store. I was perusing the ever-flashy candy aisle when I heard the word "muñeca" whispered around me. I looked up and a few feet away from me was a middle aged man staring at me. He said it again, muñeca, muñeca, with an odd sort of smile. I thought to myself I don't see any dolls in this aisle. Later, I realized that that I was in fact the muñeca. Babydoll. 

Since then I've heard:

My wife! 

My love!

Mi amor!

Marry me!

How you doin'? 

Welcome to my country.

I love you, baby.

Mmmm. (Gross).

Mmmm. Que rico!

(How hot/lush/rich! - This word is actually used most often with food, as in How delicious! Double gross). 

Now, I try my best to notice the differences between my home culture and the Honduran culture, not the negatives about Honduran culture. For example, time is more relaxed here. This is different, not wrong or foolish. Because I'm accustomed to U.S. culture, it's easy to say that it's the best and the North American way of doing things is the smart way of doing things. This would be incredibly arrogant of me.  However, as a woman, I struggle with this aspect of Honduran culture. 

You would think it would feel nice, receiving attention from men, but catcalls are never the attention that you want. Sometimes, a bus or a car will pass me while I'm walking and from the vehicle a guy is literally staring me down, intense and unblinking, from the time I enter his line of vision until he can't see me anymore. I know this because I try to glare at men who do this. Unfortunately, they remain undaunted and seem to enjoy uncomfortable eye contact. 

This video, although taken by accident and completely unrelated, gives a pretty literal portrayal of this phenomenon.

It's difficult for me to not get upset because in the States, if a guy kissed at me from a two-story roof, it would be completely rude. I would be justified in getting offended, but here it seems like no big deal.  In fact, the other day, I went to the bank and the security guard outside kept staring at me. He knew I was aware of him and he slowly  looked me up and down . . . as I watched. Then he gave me the eyebrows. Goo. This security guard is not unlike taxi driver the other day who saw a gringa walking down the street and suddenly pulled up so close to me, a tire may have brushed my shoes. Taxi?! Taxi?! No, sir, I will not be requiring your services. 

This discomfort is augmented somewhat by the fact that I have to keep all my precious possessions - my credit cards, my phone, my keys, my cash, my insurance card, my grocery list - in my bra. So when I need them, I have to go digging around under my shirt. It’s a nice visual, I’m sure, and especially awkward when I pull out that sweaty credit card and hand it directly to the cashier or the teller. Sorry 'bout that.

Also awkward is getting my MoneyGram slip from the bank and the designated recipient is “Crandy Kehr," instead of "Randy." 

Did I mention awkward? Check out this picture on the back on my cereal box, meant to encourage self breast exams. WARNING: ADULT CONTENT BELOW.

 

Auto-examine your boob! Now, I support caring for one’s breasts but this particular breast definitely looks enhanced. Look at her tiny hand!  FYI: In Honduras, it's generally ok to whip out your boob as long as you're breast-feeding. I've seen many a nipple in public here and that’s the truth of it.

On that note, hope you're enjoying the weekend. Today, we lost power from about 9am to 3pm and now that it's back on, I think I will commence with making potato soup in the crock-pot and grading. 

All my best and a thousand hugs from Honduras!

Organized Playtime for Thinking Adults

About a dozen or so students have approached me to ask me if they could switch out of their current elective and into my drama class. It's great to hear that students have an interest in my class. However, I wasn't sure how to reply. On one hand, I hate to turn students away, especially because the selection process for the electives was really unclear. On the other hand, my students have spent the past 8 weeks learning and growing and acting and playing and learning how to express themselves. I didn't think it was fair to bring other students into our group now that we've become so close. We are our own circle of trust.

So, I decided to ask my drama students about it. Their class, their experience, their choice, I thought. First, I asked them if they would be willing to allow new students into the class. Then, I proposed that we hold auditions to fill however many new spots we are willing to allow.

At first, they weren't sure about these new people. They agreed that it would difficult to catch up after all this time. One student said, "We learn and progress each week and a new person could never catch up." Another student said we shouldn't allow anyone new because "they might think that we don't do any work and that it's just an easy A." And yet another student said that we are like a "family" now and it would be weird to invite new people into the family. "More people might mean more boys for our scenes," argued someone else. In the end we decided to allow a maximum of three new people.

As far as the auditions go, my students had a few opinions about that as well. They were really concerned about why students wanted to switch electives. They said that each auditionee should fill out a form before auditioning. These new people must take drama class seriously. Also decided by my students was the fact that we need to be on the lookout for groups of friends that want to join. No slackers! During the audition itself, it was decided that the students auditioning need to complete a few distinct types of exercises that we've done in class, not just one kind, because we need to see what skills they have.

Basically, my students inadvertently expressed to me how important drama class is to them. It's meaningful. It's important. It's not just an easy A. This is a personal triumph for me. I've often wondered if I treat theater too lightly: allowing for too much fidgeting, too much chatting, and too much laughter. Turns out, theater is meaningful and life-changing no matter how one teaches it. For example, I enjoyed hearing my students defend the serious nature of theater class, despite how everything we do in class is play with our voices and move our bodies in new ways. This is the power of theater.

Honestly, I got a little teary eyed while the students weren't looking. English class is definitely all-business this year (until we get to Romeo and Juliet that is), but drama has been refreshing. It's all the things I love about literature and characters, but with zero grammar! In fact, a number of my students have told me how different of a teacher I am in English class than in drama class. Apparently, I'm really "shy" and "reserved" in English class, but in drama I let loose! I'm glad I do.

Really, isn't that the point of theater? Organized playtime for thinking adults.


*                    *                    *                 *


Now for some GOOD NEWS!

Misty, the fifth-grader who was kidnapped last Friday, was returned home yesterday, safe and sound. She is doing well according to Mark, her teacher. Her kidnappers kept her for nearly a week, but Misty seems comfortable sharing about her experience, so it seems that like no physical harm was done to her. Also, there is a possibility that Misty was with other kidnapped kids. It's very strange to feel glad that she wasn't alone, but horrified at the idea of a group of kids hanging out at the kidnappers' lair.

Flashback! I never posted pictures from my trip to White Cloud, MI to visit my brother, Mike, and his wife, Tracy. They're stained glass artists:

These pictures were taken at their studio, where all the magic happens. I miss them and all my loved ones in the Mitten.

Take care!

All my best and a thousand hugs from Honduras,

Julie

Riots and Ruckus

Today, Honduras played Canada in a soccer world cup qualifier in Tegucigalpa. For those of you who are not aware, Hondurans love soccer. That is an understatement. Hondurans live for soccer. I believe they vaporize soccer paraphernalia and inhale the fumes.

Every time there's a big game (Is there ever really "just a game?") there is some serious halabaloo all over the city. Last year, during the Montagua v. Olimpia game, I was riding in a taxi that accidentally drove into the middle of a riot in el Centro (downtown Tegus). The riot was, of course, just some cheer sessions on account of the Olimpia/Montagua game. I had agreed to meet a friend downtown completely unaware of the face-off between Honduras' two premier soccer teams.

When taxi man and I arrived downtown (he might have been the only Honduran man unversed in soccer lore), we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by people. They weren't congregating towards our taxi on purpose, really; the crowd simply evolved into a general mob of yelling, flag waving, chanting, fist pumping, pistol shots, and ruckus. The taxi driver started freaking out and yelling at me to lock the doors and close the windows as people started pounding on the car. His fears weren't unfounded. My students have told me that these sorts of rowdy gatherings have resulted in deaths. With that in mind, I slunk down into my seat, afraid that my gringa red hair would induce more ruckus directed at our taxi. For a few jarring moments, we held our breath hoping that the horde wouldn't fixate on us. Finally, the taxi driver was able to pull into a side street and out of the downtown area.

This dramatic retelling explains why many students were pulled out of school today (to see the big game, of course), why there was an amateur student ruckus happening at the after school (to support our country, of course), and why so many pistol shots and firecrackers were heard throughout the city (to commemorate the game, of course). Honduras killed it 8-1. I bet the Canadians wished they weren't "oot 'n a boot" today. Ha!

On a random note, here's a picture that never made it into my blog last year. I miss the view at my apartment. And I miss Lil' geck! See if you can spot him.

All my best and a thousand hugs from Honduras,

Julie

Mop Hair and the Unisex Salon

The long weekend is over. I'm back to work tomorrow after watching the "Santa Clause," baking oodles of chocolate chip cookies, spending time with Osa the puppy, and enjoying a hearty serving of pumpkin spice coffee from Target. If you're in the States, do not hesitate. BUY THIS DELICIOUS GOURMET COFFEE NOW!

My dad has wisely suggested that I posted most often with fewer pictures in each post. I see the sense in this. Each post is turning out to be ginormous. Plus, I tend to leave out the fun details when I post 1,200 pictures. I'm hoping include more minor cultural incidents.

For example, if this post included 1,200 pictures, I wouldn't have time to tell you about my short search for hair products at the local salon. Ever since I returned to the blonde scene, my hair has been difficult. It's upset with me for dying it so much and for moving to a country where the water is more harsh. It's all grown out now and the layers have disappeared. To me, it looks more or less like a mop.

Even though I wash it maybe once every three days, it still feels dry and frizzy. Three days, people! Moreover, my hair now devours hair product like Pac Man. I put conditioner in my hair and by the time I go to wash it out, it's like there's nothing in my hair. It's weird. I've actually started putting baby oil directly onto my hair like conditioner. Times are tough.

So, I decided it was time for some professional help. I headed to the mall today and stopped into a salon. I ask for algun tipo de aceite para pelo, "some sort of hair oil." I figure I should at least get oil that's meant to go on my scalp.

The lady talks to a stylist for a moment. She returns with a huge shampoo bottle which features on its label a giant bulb of garlic. The shampoo is named, unceremoniously, "Garlic Shampoo." Estee, who was there for emotional support, bursts out laughing. She cannot take the bottle seriously, even though it's obvious that the ladies at the "unisex salon" truly do.They assure me that the product smells rico, "rich/good." To prove it, they open the bottle and hold it in front of my nose. They mean for me to smell it, and it actually does smell quite nice. I ask Cuanta cuesta?, "How much?" Thirty bucks. Really.

I can mash up garlic myself and put it on my scalp for less than a dollar. Is that wrong?

Also of note, the grocery store is now in full-blown Christmas mode. Decorations, candy, wrapping paper, Santa hats. This is what happens when one does not celebrate Halloween! Although, it's nobody's fault that Honduras doesn't really enjoy an autumn season. More on that later.

Here's a few pictures of Osa and I. She was uncooperative.
Included in the background: Brittany's legs.



Enjoy your week!

All my best and a thousand hugs from Honduras,

Julie

Lago de Yojoa

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of traveling to Lago de Yojoa with my fellow teachers. This lake (lago), as previously stated, is the lake in Honduras, the only one, in fact, to be of volcanic origins in Honduras. Here, the ancestors of the Lencas, one of Honduras' still-living native peoples, lived and thrived. Apparently, archeologists now think that 2,800 years ago, Los naranjos was an ancient city that preceded Jesus Christ and even Honduras' largest ancient city, Copan, by 1,000 years. 

Here in 2012, however, the serene body of water is now a major tourist attraction, although, it doesn't feel very "touristy." Lago affords many different lodging options, including a brewery tucked right into the lush forest. We opted to stay in some beautiful cabins very near to the water. Unfortunately, we only stayed one night, but the short duration of my stay definitely makes me want to go back.

The bridge near the cabins/resort area.

This cabin was right on the water, complete with an enticing hammock. 






The bridge was a bit rickety. 



But Marisha and I stood our ground. 



Look who I found! (This was most definitely not staged). 

 Bridge-sittin'.

*WARNING*

OVERABUNDANCE OF SCENIC PICTURES

 THAT MAY OR MAY NOT DEPICT 

MORE OR LESS THE SAME SCENERY

BUT AT DIFFERENT CAMERA ANGLES

See those different colored patches of land on the mountains? It amazes me how Hondurans somehow farm the seemingly un-farm-able.

I experimented with color a bit. 

  

  

This reminded me of my dear sister, Elizabeth, and made me miss her at the same time. 

For Michigan people, we got awfully excited about seeing fish in a lake. 

These rocks enjoy a spectacular view. 

Broken meets beautiful. 

Love birds.

Broken meets beautiful.

This is part of a palm tree, but, call me silly, I don't know what kind of fruit this is. The most appropriate name I could find on Google? "Palm fruit."

Wedding reception. Not too shabby. 

Young palm fruit. 

Can't decide whether this depicts feminism or chauvinism. Mark looks pretty smug.

Taking a well-deserved break. Some of our group went horseback riding. I did not. 

   1. Most Honduran horses make me look like a giantess. 

             (Especially when they pant and snort as if I'm too much work. Makes a lady feel special [and guilty]). 

   2. I assume the horses were trained by 15 year old boys. Reassuring.

In the words of Ace Ventura, "This is a lovely room of death." It was, in actuality, very lovely. 

A room with a view.  

"Love scenes prohibited." Boring!

This tree was irresistibly climb-able.  

Head towards the light. 

Indecent.

Broken meets beautiful.  

After we checked out of our lodgings, we headed to a ginormous waterfall (like you do). 

The bridge over the river.  

Picnic!

Heading to the falls. 

The waterfall emits a constant mist. 

One can venture under the falls and into a cave beyond. I opted out of this little adventure. To be honest, I wasn't in the mood for the moderately dangerous. Plus, I heard horror stories about the experience, along with comments like, "I feared for my life" and "It was really painful." At the very least, I feared losing half my hair under the tens of thousands of gallons of falling water and teaching high school students half-bald. 

You can see the few brave souls who dared their hair on the bottom left-ish of this picture. 

Keri's diving in. 

Anna is embracing the thrill.  

In the pool.

How scary-cool does this look? 

Everyone who entered the falls returned from them just fine. If I ever have a chance to go back to Lago, into the waterfall I will go. However, I feel satisfied just in having pictures of someone else doing all the hard work. 

And now, some pictures from the long ride home. 

I tried to go all "artsy" on these. 

I hope no one reading this has epileptic tendencies. 

Overall, the trip to Lago was short but sweet. I'm excited to see if the opportunity to return presents itself. 

This week, however, proved long and exhausting. This year, in general, has been more of a struggle than last year, but I am discovering that many of my students are dealing with some very real, painful situations. Last week, we discussed secrets in my class. One student shared that a family member had been kidnapped last summer. Another student explained that after receiving threat from a gang, her father told her he was going to hire a personal bodyguard for her. Unfortunately, kidnappings for ransom and tributes to gangs are a normal part of life in Honduras. Other students (and not just in my classes) have talked to me about split parents, abuse in the home, neglect, dire responsibilities, poverty, terror, and depression. Teaching is an emotional journal to begin with, but my heart breaks for these young people who are unfairly forced to take too much onto their plate.

Yesterday morning, an IST fifth grader name Misty was kidnapped straight out of her mother's arms. Apparently, her family owns a Chinese restaurant and it's assumed that the kidnappers believe the family can give them a large sum of money. From what I understand, the kidnappers were offered 500.000 lempiras ($25,000) and Misty was supposed to be dropped off at a certain location yesterday evening. The family was waiting, but somehow Misty is still in the care of her kidnappers tonight. Prayer (or positive thoughts, if you're not big on prayer) would be appreciated. I do not know Misty personally, but I know her teachers and others who love her. I hope Misty knows tonight that we're all praying and hoping for her safe return! 

All my best and a thousand hugs from Honduras, 

Julie